


Closing the Contract

by XxTwistedEverAfterxX



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Blackmail, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Magical Strike AU, Office Sex, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 16:12:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3296600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XxTwistedEverAfterxX/pseuds/XxTwistedEverAfterxX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Magical Strike is ready to seal a deal with Jones Inc. and preparing an infiltration. Though they have been sending in Arthur, the salary man, in for negotiations, after beginning to send in Matthew, Magical Strike's son, they notice a drastic change and speed up of agreements. The company president's son, Alfred, has also been making more appearances at meetings, and urging things along... but what does he want? At the final meeting, a final proposition is handed directly from Alfred to Matthew. Will he accept?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Closing the Contract

**Author's Note:**

> So, several people have requested this, and after seeing all of the wonderful art floating about, as well as the update itself, I deliver; an AmeCan Magical Strike AU fic. I hope this is to everyone’s satisfaction! There’s been some very interesting and wonderful takes on Matthew’s role, but I’ve gone with him being the son of Magical Strike Francis, who has sent him on a mission to infiltrate… which results in some wonderful NSFW when the company president’s son intercepts those plans~ I do hope you all enjoy!! Smooch smooch!

“We’ve almost got full infiltration.”  
  
Pale hands smoothed down the grey suit jacket, slim fingers tracing the length of the off white pinstripes that ran from the top of his shoulders and down to his waist. The hemline was smooth, following the contour of his hips, perfectly fitted in a manner that was so close to sin, contrasting the black button up shirt he wore beneath. It was designed to be faultless, and as Matthew turned his wrists about, studying the sleeves and cufflinks, he found that he agreed. The tailor had been the best in town, after all.  
  
“You’ve done so well up until now,” Francis spoke up, stepping in slow circles around the Canadian, studying the length of the pants, matching in colour and style to the jacket, “I think you’ll be fine today.”  
  
Fair blond lashes fluttered as Matthew blinked and looked up through them, violet eyes sharp behind his spectacles, the frames a matching hue of purple to his irises, the metal thin and rounded to give a sophisticated but sharp look. Francis reached out, fluffing up his loose curls, lips puckered to the side as he eyed off the style critically, studying the perfectly symmetrical length of each bottom layer of waves when pulled taught, only to nod in satisfaction as they bounced back into shape.  
  
“You’ll be meeting with the president again today, and we need you to get as much information as possible. Secure the business deal, and that way we can—”  
  
“You talk far too much. The lad knows what to do,” Arthur spoke up from behind the desk, tapping a pen irritably, his own glasses perched on his nose, needed for reading, an aggravated expression seemingly etched onto his face permanently, “You just like hearing the sound of your own voice, but not all of us share that absurd passion.”  
  
“I’m just going over all the details in my head again,” Francis objected with a huff, his expression disgruntled as he crossed his arms across his chest, cocking his hips and raised an eyebrow, “What is so wrong with that?”  
  
“Well, go over it in your head then. Not everyone needs to hear it a thousand times. Matthew is clever. He knows what to do and doesn’t need to hear it for the billionth time,” Arthur muttered, shaking his head as he grumbled, “Lord knows we hear it enough with that damned megaphone of yours.”  
  
“Do you have a  _problem_  with Magical Strike—?”  
  
“I have  _several_  problems with that  _wreckage_ , and Lars has a thousand more, but that’s not what we’re discussing right now,” Arthur snapped, pressing his pen to the desk harder than necessary, acid green eyes locking on the tallest blond in the room who remained standing calmly and silently throughout it all, still inspecting his new suit, “Matthew, your voice is less grating on the ears. I know you understand, but repeat it for the sake of the dress prancing fool who seems to doubt your capabilities, as though you’re some infant.”  
  
Francis made a soft sound of offence at the insults, upper lip curling up and nose crinkling, looking down the length of it and over the hooked tip to the English salary man. Matthew lowered his hands, turning to stand with his side to each man, looking over his shoulder to Arthur, the curve straightened by the padding there to give him a broader appearance.  
  
“The company president has a digital key to unlock the codes on the main interface, and you want me to get the key—which should be in the form of a slim USB on a golden chain around his neck. When left alone, you want me to have all the codes copied to our USB and disabled on their mainframe, duplicate as many programming files as possible, and hide them in the system so they can be erased once we overthrow the majority polls,” Matthew spoke easily, smiling sweetly, his eyes crinkling by the tear ducts at the action, giving him a sly catlike appearance, “Or to put it simply; steal the key, copy, paste, and mess up the computers to make them easier to hack later and break into when we get the public on Magical Strike’s side. Am I right?”  
  
Francis huffed looking sour as Matthew glanced to him, his smile convincing even him that he was nothing but an angel. Francis knew better. He was still concerned, and his lips pressed into a tight line as his eyes narrowed.  
  
“I’ve been sweetening up the president’s son for a bit, and with the entitled tantrum-like hold he has over his daddy, it won’t be hard to get the key if I just give him a look. He’ll be demanding his father gives me that key like a petulant child, and we’ll be in,” Matthew assured, turning his back slowly to Arthur, checking his wrist where his watch was fastened, “He’s ready to crack. I can feel it. He’s all buttered up and lurking about pretty frequently during meetings with the president. I told you it was a good idea to have me negotiate as a stand-in rather than Arthur.”  
  
“Personally, I’d prefer to send Arthur in, rather than you,” Francis murmured, reaching out to brush his thumb over Matthew’s cheekbone, studying the flawless white flesh, “That boy has a vicious complex, and I don’t want you in the crossfire. He’s strong and  _intelligent_ … once you get past that ego and demanding childishness.”  
  
Matthew’s expression became gentle, his eyes softening a little, though retained a cunning look of quiet mischief as his hand reached up, cupping Francis’ and lowered it slowly from his cheek.  
  
“Have dinner ready for me when I come home, papa,” Matthew said simply, glancing over his shoulder to a very disgruntled Arthur, letting go of the more calloused hand to drop down, “I’m heading off, then. I’ll call once I’m done.”  
  
“Call if you run into trouble as well. I’ll come as fast as I can,” Francis insisted, tone stern as he watched Matthew walk towards the office door, scooping up the suitcase as he went, “Matthieu! Your mother will be furious if you come home hurt and trail any mess into the house. I won’t cook dessert for you either, so come home in one piece!”  
  
Pausing in the doorway, his hand on the frame, Matthew gave a single nod, fingers tightening on the black leather in his hands.  
  
“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine,” Matthew promised, grinning, “Besides, I know for a fact I’ll be safe. He’s still sour over you having him play the role of the villain at that party. I’m positive Alfred will meet any demand I make for the sake of his childish hero complex. It’s not that hard to manipulate someone who still dresses like a trashy scene kid from two thousand and seven.”  
  
With a final wave he was gone, leaving behind a distressed Frenchman chewing on his bottom lip whilst twisting his wedding ring on his finger, and a determinedly confident Englishman straightening his posture and steeling his expression.  
  
The appointment location wasn’t all that far away from their main headquarters. The Jones Inc. Tower reigned high above every other skyscraper in their entire city, making it difficult to miss, but it was also just as difficult to get into compared to their much humbler office where Magical Strike was forming its foundations. It was a little embarrassing to have his father take that name on for his fighting persona in such a modern world, having gained more than just a few laughs whenever he appeared on the television. Thankfully, Arthur and Lars had prevented the firm name from being set as that. Not only would it not be taken as a serious corporation with such a label, but it would also be a dead giveaway as to what their goals were. It would have made being a business partner to the Jones Inc. industry that much more impossible.  
  
Thanks to Arthur’s hard work, along with Lars behind the scenes, and now Matthew, they had all but sealed the deal; today was just the confirmation, the official handshake, and the document signing.  
  
Despite the high level of importance placed on this single meeting, that wasn’t what had Matthew’s nerves strung up high. Though confident, calm, and collected on the outside, on the inside, he was apprehensive and tentative, butterflies fluttering about within his stomach. His throat felt tight, constricted, and he tried to keep his gaze locked forward as he walked, however much he wanted them to dart about to take in as much as he could of his surroundings. He didn’t need to look around to know that there were security guards everywhere, their guns loaded and nestled in their respective holsters at each of their hips.  
  
“Well, well, look who’s back~…”  
  
The husky voice crooning close by was enough to raise the hairs at the base of Matthew’s neck, violet eyes fluttering shut as his steps clicked to a halt, drawing in a deep and slow breath. Of course Alfred had been waiting for him in the main hall. The brat was impatient, and though they were the same young age, they acted so very differently.  
  
“I’m glad it was you that came today,” Alfred continued, sliding into Matthew’s line of sight as his eyes opened, violet eyes meeting strikingly bright blue, studying the wide grin and the hooded gaze, “I wanted to have a chat.”  
  
Matthew smoothed his expression to be businesslike, turning to face Alfred that fragment more, holding out his hand as a greeting.  
  
“I apologise that you came all this way—”  
  
“Drop the formalities, darlin’, this ain’t the way you want to behave.”  
  
Alfred’s bluntness had Matthew faltering a little, unused to dealing with the company president’s son in a one on one environment. If anything, he’d been trying to avoid it. The man was devilishly attractive, despite his tacky choice of clothing—a long black coat with jagged fluffed up feathers around the collar, along with the white skull of a rabbit emblazoned on the side, all atop a purple dress shirt that sported the top two buttons purposefully opened,  _ironed_  open, if Matthew didn’t know any better. His blond hair was stained purple along the side bangs in a thick violet streak, his ears pierced with studs and cuffs along the shell, and one of his sun kissed cheeks was inked with a single star a shade of deep purple so dark it was almost black.  
  
Rather than the professional son of a company president, all Matthew could see was a kid that tried too hard to rebel against his parents and enter the scene fashion.  
  
Nonetheless, Alfred’s jaw was sharp and defined, his cheeks softened only by the little bits of fat that likely also padded other parts of the American’s body. Matthew had spent far too long fantasising about it, much to his shame, and had often stared at him from beneath his lashes whenever Alfred forced his presence in the room whilst meetings had been taking place. He was entertaining, and bearable, once his obnoxious loudness and insistence to be the centre of attention was taken out of the equation.  
  
“I like you a lot better than all of the others, so I asked if I could be the one to hand the documents over to be signed!” Alfred chirped, grinning widely, his expression losing part of the sinisterness that Matthew had felt in the atmosphere between them, “Ain’t that great? I’ve wanted to spend a bit of time with you. You don’t come around as much as I wish you did.”  
  
“Unfortunately, I’ve got plenty of work to do back at my company,” Matthew said apologetically, still holding his hand out to be shaken, though lowering it slowly, “I’m sure if you called, we could arrange someone to come and help you with any negotiations you have.”  
  
“Nah, you’re not gettin’ what I’m sayin’,” Alfred drawled out, slapping their palms together and grasping Matthew’s hand hard, yanking him in suddenly and sharply. Matthew gasped, stumbling a little with the force, stunned by the sudden display of power, his eyes widening as he caught his footing before he fell. Francis had warned him multiple times over that Alfred had a disturbing amount of strength, but Matthew hadn’t expected quite  _this much_.  
  
“I want you  _specifically_  to come around more often. We could have meetings, but I’d rather call them somethin’ like a date, and rather than see each other over borin’ documents, how about lunch?” Alfred suggested, gaze turning hooded once more, a chuckle rumbling deep in his chest huskily, “Or maybe even a bed?”  
  
Matthew’s cheeks turned a dark shade of pink in embarrassment at the softly spoken words and their implication, gaze darting quickly to the side, though to his luck, it seemed as though none of the security guards had heard, nor cared too much about them. The company president’s son likely behaved oddly and on whims frequently enough that they simply blocked it out. Catching Matthew’s brief glance, Alfred looked to the side as well, following where his eyes had turned before he grinned, looking back to Matthew, their eyes meeting again as Matthew’s expression steeled back to a calm mask once more.  
  
“Why don’t we talk about this in private? I’ve got some propositions of my own I’d like to make,” Alfred whispered, winking up at him, giving his hand one last firm squeeze and then released it, calloused fingers sliding over Matthew’s palm slowly, teasingly. Matthew found himself shuddering, goose bumps forming on his pale skin beneath the suit jacket, and he angled his chin up, looking down the length of his nose at the American and offered a polite, though tight lipped, smile.  
  
“I’m only signing what was agreed to before. If there are any changes to the contract we had set up, then I’m sorry, but I’m leaving,” Matthew insisted firmly, pushing his shoulders back, expression cool.  
  
“It’s got nothin’ to do with what’s already been agreed to. You don’t have to sign anythin’ either,” Alfred promised, stepping back in the direction Matthew had been walking towards, “Think of this as…  _hmm_ … as a verbal contract; one with no consequence or benefit to our two companies.”  
  
“If it has neither consequence nor benefit, why should I agree to anything at all, especially without proof of agreement or disagreement?” Matthew challenged, following after Alfred nonetheless, though now on a much higher alert than before.  
  
“There’ll be proof, but it’s up to you who you show it to.”  
  
With that, Alfred turned his back and continued down the hall. After a brief hesitation, Matthew followed, lips pursed in a resemblance to Francis’ earlier expression, allowing his eyes this time to stray about them. He had to be more observant, now that things were a little bit fishy. The security thinned out the deeper into the company they went, winding down halls that he’d already walked before, but this time, they were bare of the usual life, giving an ominous warning that should something happen, nobody would come running in quickly. The company president wouldn’t be there in the regular meeting room of his office, just his son, and that alone unnerved Matthew, along with the silent threat-like implications of an additional deal made off contract and off paper.  
  
“There won’t be anyone joining us?” Matthew asked, his lips pursing into a frown as the final door to the main office was opened up, revealing nothing but the usual, save for the fact that not a single guard stood at attention in the room, nor for at least twenty metres, and even then, it was quite a gap between that guard and the next.  
  
“Just us; just you and me,” Alfred repeated, stepping aside and holding the door open wide for Matthew, grinning large enough to crinkle the star on his cheek, “Why do you ask? You’re not plannin’ to do anythin’ nasty to me, are you?”  
  
“I could ask the same of you,” Matthew rebutted, walking in cautiously, turning his head away to face forward.  
  
Within that single instant of breaking eye contact and turning his back entirely to the American, the door was shut hard and the lock clicked down, sealing them in, and Matthew grunted as a heavy body slammed into his. Before he could stumbled and fall, thick arms wound around his torso—one around his waist, and the other around his chest, a thumb and forefinger grasping his chin and angling his head up and back, violet eyes shutting tightly at the speed and force behind the grab.  
  
“Nothin’ you wouldn’t like,” Alfred whispered, voice falling right into his ear, a tongue following and running the length of his ear shell, causing Matthew to shudder lightly in the man’s arms, eyebrows creasing, “I’ve wanted you for quite some time now, and I  _know_  you want me too.”  
  
“What makes you say that?”  
  
“ _Everyone_  wants me. I’m the president’s son, and I  _always_  get what I want… and I want  _you_.”  
  
“Me?”  
  
“I want you, Matthew,” Alfred growled, grinding forward, his grip on the Canadian tightening, and suddenly, it became all too clear what that proposition was going to be, “I want you on my father’s desk, and I want to fuck you on those documents you’re  _so_  obsessed about.”  
  
“That goes against company policy. I’m not to fraternise with the company president’s son,” Matthew objected softly, half heartedly, because God yes the man was gorgeous, and would be even more so once he removed those stupid clothes.  
  
“Get on that desk, and spread your legs,” Alfred commanded huskily, his hand sliding from Matthew’s waist to the front of his pants, cupping his crotch and kneading it firmly, pulling a groan from Matthew’s throat, “Or else I’ll tell daddy that you’ve been bad.”  
  
“F- _Fuck_ … You’ll tell him I won’t let you fuck me? You tell your father about your sex life? Or, lack thereof,” Matthew snorted, restraining himself as much as he could to keep his hips still, swallowing thickly as his lashes fluttered closed to brush against his pale cheeks.  
  
“I’ll tell daddy why you were  _really_  here.”  
  
There was a brief shift of movement, Matthew’s cock being granted relief as the hand slid away, only for a jingle to sound before his face, violet eyes opening, tensing up immediately. The USB hung before him, glittering on its golden chain swaying back and forward, and his throat dried up, breath caught in his lungs, and his eyes widened.  
  
“I didn’t know Magical Strike had a  _son_ … much less a son  _my age_  who he’s willin’ to send in to steal on his behalf… You’re not a good boy. You’re a thief, Matthew,” Alfred crooned, the golden USB dangling like a pendulum, swinging back and forward mockingly, just in front of his face, yet still out of reach. There was no way that he could grab it now and do what he needed to do with it, not with Alfred there, and not with Alfred  _very aware_  of who he was, and what his purpose was. Not if he’d pre-emptively taken the USB from his father and claimed he knew what he was going to do with it.  
  
“So here’s my proposition,” Alfred continued, “You get up on my daddy’s big Makassar ebony desk, spread your legs, and say ‘please come fuck me, Alfred’ in a convincin’ voice… and I won’t tell daddy what you plan to do with this USB. I might even give it to you if you’re a good little slut for me too. No fuss, no catch, and no paper signing… just a good fuck and it’s all yours.”  
  
Matthew frowned, turning his head slightly, his cheek pressing to Alfred’s, able to see the sly and hooded blue gaze at his side, and even though he couldn’t see the American’s grin clearly, he could  _feel it_. Not only that, but with Alfred’s hips pressed so firmly against his, he could feel the outline of his cock grinding in against the cleft of his ass between his cheeks, rutting slowly in up and down motions that had his own grey pinstripe suit pants feeling uncomfortably tight. He had two options now; give in, and have sex with the company president’s son on the president’s desk, get the USB and sign the papers… or, refuse to have sex with him, and risk being exposed of his mission and have it fail, not mentioning the risk of escaping if he denied the request.  
  
Though why would he deny sex with someone he was already attracted to?  
  
“You’re blackmailing me,” Matthew said simply, arms still stiffly at his sides, swallowing thickly, “So my options are fuck you and get what I came here for, or not fuck you and lose the deal?”  
  
“Basically,” Alfred chirped, pressing his face in against Matthew’s neck, inhaling deeply and bucking his hips forward a few times, groaning, “Do you have an answer? It’s your call.”  
  
Leaning back into the strong chest behind him, Matthew tipped his head to the side, allowing Alfred to continue nosing about against his neck and towards his hairline behind his ear, breathing in deeply and occasionally letting his lips brush along sensitive flesh, teasing it with his teeth. There was no denying that he wanted him, and this was a good opportunity to have a bit of fun on the job, not to mention vent sexual frustrations. They’d been casting sidelong glances to each other for the longest time, and Alfred had taken every opportunity to hand something directly to Matthew rather than allowing his father to do so, and when he did, their fingers would always brush and Alfred’s would linger. It wasn’t as though he was given much of an option, but really, did he want to decline? Blackmail or not, he still wanted what was being offered.  
  
Matthew shifted, squirming to get his arms out from the other’s hold, pressing down on the one around his waist. He could feel Alfred’s breath catch in his throat and he ignored him, stepping forward and away, though not in the direction of the door. Reaching the desk, his heart hammering beneath his ribcage, he cleared away some of the items on the front and centre, turned, and slid his rear up onto it, shuffling back onto it and braced his finely polished black shoes on the expensive wood, spreading his legs wide. Alfred’s eyes widened, and the thick erection in his tighter pants was agonisingly visible straining against the belt, and the American groaned at the sight before him.  
  
“Please… Come fuck me, Alfred,” Matthew breathed, licking his lips slowly as he drew in a slow, trembling breath, bracing his hands behind him, suit jacket parting ever so slightly, “Fuck me and make a mess of my needy ass.”  
  
In a flash, Alfred crossed the room to where Matthew was perched, one hand grasping to Matthew’s hip, the other cupping the back of his neck and brought their lips forward into a bruising kiss. With Alfred’s body there to hold him up and support him, Matthew’s hands were free to grab onto Alfred’s head, fingers tangling in short dark blond strands and yanked him in close, biting at Alfred’s lower lip and sucking it into his mouth to tease with his tongue. Alfred growled, yanking Matthew forward sharply along the costly wood, slamming their hips together and grinding down hard, dry humping through their pants in a way that his cock got half of the friction from Matthew’s ass and near his balls, and the other half from the high situated desk.  
  
“Fuck, you’ve got a nice new suit today,” Alfred growled, pulling apart from the rough kiss, a husky rumble echoing in his throat as Matthew raised his head to nip at his swelling bottom lip again, “I wouldn’t want your dad getting’ mad if you ruined it… We’d better take it off.”  
  
“I’d say the same about your coat, except I don’t care what happens to it. I just want the trashy thing _off_ ,” Matthew replied, arching his back up to bring himself closer to Alfred.  
  
The American laughed at his words, raising a brow high towards the purple streak in his hair.  
  
“You’re actually a snarky bitch in reality, aren’t you?” he teased, hastily unbuttoning the suit and shoving it from Matthew’s shoulders.  
  
“No more than you’re a demanding bitch,” Matthew rebutted, grinning up at him, tossing his suit jacket backwards and onto the leather chair behind the desk, his shoulders smaller without the additional broad padding.  
  
“I’m going to enjoy fuckin’ you,” Alfred snarled, two sets of hands hastily working on shoving off his coat, the black mess of feathers and mock-gothic fashion crumpling around his boots, “I’m goin’ to really, really love wipin’ that look right off your face, Matthew.”  
  
“Once again, you’re nothing but loud promises and big walks, but nothing to back either up,” Matthew hissed, fingers deftly working on the purple shirt that Alfred wore, yanking firmly on his tie to bring him down again, “Don’t disappoint me.”  
  
Clothes were shed fast, shirts opened and left half hanging off the crooks of their elbows and the slopes of their shoulders, shoes tossed somewhere to the side and socks half clinging to the top of their feet and their toes. Matthew discovered that Alfred was indeed built beneath the trashy outfit he wore, his hips and stomach softened with the slightest bit of padding that he realised quickly was quite sensitive to touch. The clatter of belts smacking against the desk egged on their urgency, Alfred’s pants dropping and being shoved down to his ankles along with his plain black underwear, his cock free of the constraints—a visible relief from the tightness.  
  
“Tell me how badly you want this cock,” Alfred breathed, grasping the base, his shirt sliding a little bit more, catching along his bicep, sun kissed skin looking golden in the lighting in the room, “How bad do you want it?”  
  
“I want it as bad as I want a condom on it first and some lubrication,” Matthew bit out, breathing hard, chest rising and falling as he pushed himself up, licking his lips, “You better have brought them. You’re not fucking me bareback or dry.”  
  
Alfred cursed, smoothing his hair from his face, the purple dye staining his scalp by the roots as the sweat mixed with it. It was clearly a temporary dye, given it would likely run whilst in the shower. He mumbled something inaudible, letting go of Matthew and his cock to grasp his coat, shuffling through some of the many pockets. Pulling out the USB on the chain, he dangled it up for Matthew to see, slapping it onto the desk just slightly out of reach, and then placed a condom and small travel size bottle of lubricant closer to his hip.  
  
“You came prepared,” Matthew noted, spreading his legs wide once again, watching the lubricant get squirted onto three of Alfred’s thick fingers, “So you’ve been planning this for how long?”  
  
“Too long,” Alfred grunted, one hand spreading Matthew’s pale cheeks, the other circling the puckered muscle teasingly with his slippery fingers, watching it twitch and tense eagerly, “You’re not a virgin, are you? Or virgin tight?”  
  
“No and no. You’ve got your big toys that you play with, and I’ve got mine,” Matthew replied easily, tossing his head to flick some waves of blond from his face, “I’m loose enough to fuck without a lot of work. I play with my toys frequent enough.”  
  
Alfred moaned deeply, sinking in his middle finger slowly straight to the last knuckle, his cock twitching against the edge of the desk at the sensation of the hot tightness.  
  
“You’ve got dildos? Fuck… I want to see you fuckin’ yourself with them… I want to see you fucked  _by_ them,” Alfred murmured, rocking his wrist back and forward to make the finger fuck the Canadian slowly, “How do you feel about fuckin’ machines?”  
  
“My daddy’s not so rich I can afford one of those.”  
  
“Well mine is.”  
  
Matthew moaned softly, head tipping back as Alfred’s finger crooked inside of him, rubbing firmly along the spongy bundle of nerves insistently.  
  
“Do you want to be fucked by a machine? Spread open with a dildo while I watch?” Alfred asked, pressing in a second finger, the muscles fluttering around it but accepting it easily with a single scissoring stretch, “I want to watch you get fucked over and over for hours until you’re a hyper sensitive mess, and then I want to fuck you just when you think it’s too much and make you scream your voice raw.”  
  
“Oh  _fuck_ , Alfred!”  
  
“That’s it. Say my name. Say my fuckin’ name again, Matthew,” he snarled, bright blue eyes focused intently as Matthew eased himself back onto the desk, feet braced and knees spread wide open, his hands coming down to grasp each cheek of his ass and hold it open further, giving Alfred more access and the ability to push his two fingers in deeper, “I love seein’ you like this, spread open on this desk, cock hard and red… You’re fuckin’  _drippin’_  on yourself, and your ass is making such lewd suckin’ sounds… God, you’re lovin’ this, aren’t you?”  
  
“Fuck…” Matthew turned his head away, his skin flushed a bright red from the tips of his ears and trailing down to his chest, nipples perky and flushed dark pink.  
  
“I asked you a question… You’re lovin’ this…  _aren’t you_?”  
  
Alfred’s fingers slammed in hard, his palm slapping against the skin below Matthew’s balls as his fingers dug in deep and rubbed hard against his prostate, ripping a cry of surprised pleasure from Matthew, back arching and the muscles in his thighs jerking whilst his toes curled.  
  
“Yes! Yes, yes, yes, oh God, it’s good,” Matthew gasped out, lifting a hand up to push his hair back from his face, jaw slack as he panted, “More… Next finger, hurry up,  _fuck_.”  
  
“Beg for it,” Alfred hissed, rubbing his cock gingerly against the edge of the desk for some much needed friction of his own.  
  
“Finger me and fuck me properly or I’m throwing you on this desk and riding you!” Matthew barked, covering his face with both hands, though it did little to hide the colour of his skin or his moans. Alfred grinned at that, spreading his fingers out and pushing in a third, relaxing the digits as he pushed them in deep. Matthew’s back bowed at the action, though he didn’t seem to be in copious amounts of discomfort or pain. If anything, he just seemed impatient.  
  
“You’re a demandin’ bitch.”  
  
“That— _hah_ —That’s rich coming from you.”  
  
Alfred couldn’t help but laugh, his eyes dropping to the muscle that stretched around his fingers, cherry coloured with the blood that had rushed down with arousal and the preparation. His cock would slide in easier now, given that Matthew was spread wide, and lubricated a decent amount. Well, almost enough, but not quite, in Alfred’s opinion. Grinning cheekily, he glanced up to make sure Matthew’s eyes were still covered by his hands. He was still moaning, head angled back, Adam’s apple bobbing with every swallow in his throat, but his attention was elsewhere as his hips bucked down onto Alfred’s fingers as though trying to ride them, encourage them in deeper. That was just what he wanted.  
  
Grasping hold of the little lubricant bottle, Alfred uncapped the lid again, angling it near his fingers and pressed down while his fingers cocked, rubbing hard at the other’s prostate while his fingers spread the muscle that bit more. Matthew groaned loudly and gutturally, arching and tossing his head back against the desk, feet coming up in the way they curved so that his toes were pointed.  
  
In that instant, Alfred squeezed the bottle and squirted the lubricant.  
  
Predictably, as the cold liquid drizzled into him, Matthew yelped, slamming his hands powerfully to the desk and jerked his hips back, rising up and using his legs to shove himself away and off of Alfred’s fingers, breathing hard and staring in a mix of shock and anger as Alfred howled with laughter.  
  
“Wh—What the  _fuck_  was that?” Matthew demanded, curls falling in front of his face, giving him a messy sexed up appearance, one sleeve of his shirt almost completely hanging off his arm.  
  
“Just lubricant,” Alfred assured, shaking his head as he waggled the bottle for Matthew to see, capping it again, “I just want you to be really slick so I don’t hurt you when I fuck you.”  
  
“You son of a bitch, that’s  _cold_ ,” Matthew spat, eyes narrowing, lifting a shaking hand up to smooth his hair back again, the lubricant having warmed up inside of him, breathing hard as Alfred tugged on his ankles to bring him back, “You should have warned me, or warmed it up first.”  
  
“Come back, don’t let it dribble out of you,” Alfred sniggered, catching Matthew’s thighs and yanking him forward again, smearing around some of the liquid that had escaped, “God, you’re hilarious.”  
  
Disgruntled, Matthew grumbled, picking up the condom and raised it up, grasping the edge with his teeth and yanked his head to the side, tearing the packet open and spitting the plastic out, reaching in and pulling out the rubber, pinching the tip and unwound it a little.  
  
“You’re an asshole.”  
  
“But I’m about to fuck yours,” Alfred cooed, angling Matthew to be closer to the edge of the desk in a manner that would be comfortable for the both of them, “Hurry up and put it on, darlin’. Watchin’ you moan like that has me so fuckin’ horny.”  
  
“Shut up already,” Matthew groaned, cheeks turning darker hues of red at his words, holding Alfred’s cock with one hand whilst the other rolled the condom down to the base, making sure it was secure before giving it two good pumps, delighting in the whimpers that fell in response. Licking his lips, Matthew hooked one arm over Alfred’s shoulders and around his neck, wrapped his legs around his waist, and angled the American’s cock against his stretched hole, rubbing the head teasingly against the slick ring.  
  
“Fuck me,” Matthew demanded, using his legs to pull Alfred’s hips forward, hand helping to keep his cock in line.  
  
The soft head pressed firmly, only the slightest bit of resistance meeting their pushes before it slid in with a pop and both parties let out shaky breaths. The girth of Alfred’s cock stretched him out further, and they both watched intently, Matthew guiding the speed with his legs and hand, sweat dripping to his chest from his nose and chin, glistening on his body.  
  
“Shit, you’re so hot,” Alfred said, voice awed and pleasured, eyes focused on his cock as it disappeared inside the other’s body, “Fuck, how are you so tight?”  
  
“You’re thick, that’s why,” Matthew grunted, wincing a little, though his eyes rolled back moments later, head lolling and exposing his neck which Alfred greedily leant in to attack with bites and sucks between growls of pleasure, “O-Oh fuck… You… Oh… Your dick’s got— _hah_ …  _ah_ … Oh god… perfect shape, what the fuck?”  
  
“Are you ready?”  
  
“God yes. Oh fuck,  _yes_ , come on. Give it to me.”  
  
Unable to restrain themselves, they set up a fast and hard rhythm immediately, their thrusting shallow to keep the speed up. Clutching his own cock, Matthew began to stroke it in time with each buck down, their foreheads pressed together as they watched where they were joined, drawing further arousal from the pornographic scene.  
  
“Harder,” Matthew panted, his fingers scratching down Alfred’s back along his shoulders as the request was granted immediately, “Yes, yes, yes… Harder, Alfred, pound me, go— _oh god_!”  
  
Lifting Matthew’s hips from the desk, Alfred slammed into him powerfully. Sweat dripped from his face to Matthew’s body, the lewd slaps of skin on skin echoing loudly in the room, along with the scrape of the desk on the hardwood flooring with every connection of their bodies. Cries fell from Matthew’s lips as every few thrusts grazed or pressed against his prostate, the curve of Alfred’s cock making the angle easier to do so. The American’s moans mixed in with his sounds of pleasure, and distantly, Matthew found himself grateful that there were no security guards in the nearby vicinity to overhear their hard and fast fucking on the company president’s desk.  
  
“I need you t-to cum,” Alfred rushed out against his lips, expression strained as he rotated his hips and drove in at a new angle, “I’m so close.”  
  
“Same,” Matthew replied, catching Alfred’s mouth and kissed him hard, silencing their vocalisations as much as possible, grunting and gasping between the desperate kisses and bites of lips.  
  
Their climax was messy and desperate; rough, hard, and fast as they bucked against each other, hands groping and stroking any part of their bodies that they could grasp. As they came, they silenced their cries with their mouths, shuddering and jerking from the aftershocks, easing themselves down to lie back on the desk, boneless, Alfred atop of Matthew with his face tucked in against Matthew’s marked up pale neck. Minutes passed as they panted, broken only by Matthew grunting and pressing at Alfred’s shoulders, blinking his eyes back open.  
  
“You’re heavy,” he wheezed, able to feel the stickiness between them where ribbons of pearly cum had splattered on his abdomen, crinkling his nose at the sensation of them peeling apart, “Do you have a shower here somewhere?”  
  
“Mm, yeah,” Alfred muttered, bracing himself with his arms on either side of Matthew’s chest, purple dye dripping down to colour the Canadian’s flushed pink chest, “We can’t leave like this.”  
  
“My dad will kill me if he finds out I fucked the company president’s son,” Matthew groaned, smoothing his hair back, the colour seeming an exceptionally pale blond compared to his bright red face, tinted dark from exertion.  
  
“My dad will kill me if he finds out I fucked Magical Strike’s son and our potential business partner,” Alfred agreed, licking his lips and swallowed hard, taking a moment to gather his bearings, “Especially if he finds out it was on his desk.”  
  
“Not my problem,” Matthew dismissed easily, lowering his legs slowly from Alfred’s soft hips, the fat having helped to keep hip bones from digging uncomfortably into his thighs, “Just don’t throw the condom away in his bin, and wipe off any sweat or anything else we got on his desk or floor. He won’t know. As for my dad, well, I’ll just wear collared shirts.”  
  
“Turtleneck shirts will be better,” Alfred pointed out as he grasped the base of his cock and the condom, easing his hips backwards and slid out, “Sorry, I left the marks pretty high.”  
  
“Well, that can’t be helped now, eh.”  
  
“Join me in the shower. Then we can sign those documents.”  
  
Sitting up gingerly, Matthew slid his feet to the floor, bracing himself against the desk as he stood up slowly, glancing to Alfred through his lashes.  
  
“And… the USB?”  
  
“You can have it, but on one condition.”  
  
Hesitating, Matthew watched warily as Alfred removed the condom and tied the end up, raising an eyebrow in questioning, prompting him to put his intentions forward.  
  
“We make our own partner deal for regular fucks.”  
  
A smile curled at Matthew’s lips, small and subtle while Alfred lifted his head, hand staining purple as he smoothed his fringe from his face, the star peeling at the edges.  
  
“If you wash out that awful purple from your hair and scrub off that temporary tattoo, I’ll consider it,” Matthew hummed, sliding his shirt back onto his shoulders, leaving it unbuttoned, “We might need a few more meetings to discuss it though, so make sure you keep your condoms on hand—you wouldn’t want to disappoint and have the arrangements postponed.”  
  
Alfred chuckled, grin spreading wide on his face.  
  
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”


End file.
